Write a song about the industries dust intrigued lustThen it’s the same jargon hardened garbageHow’s your liver? How’s your sister?Drown her kids in liquor sipsStereo sounds for six figuresIt’s bigger then right and wrongIt’s writing songs for singing sheep to sleepBleach the sheets, Teathin’ leeches teach the feastOn your babies dreams, ’cause maybe things ain’t that badNot considering, I’m not the victim cop this image, cop this insulinRip the infants limb for limb

Stretch their skins for instrumentsBang the drum, bang the gunBuy the jeans by the hopeBuy the smoke by the gallonBuy the rope by the throatBuy the talon by the ropeBuy the throat by the talonMimicking riddles fillin’ abusionsFilling these shoes that’s impossibleFossils rockin’ Big Macs and public hip hop and toppled obstacles, and stumblingYou’ve got a shot, humilities just an anchor

Work to turn the slaves into gravesAshes to cash dust to pay dirtChalk up a favor, pay it laterFor now we’ll fake the soundGround shakin’ anti-gravityWhen your wallet weighs you downHip hop cultures flourishing worth worshiping these vulture skullsOf target markets, red targets and carbon multiplesOf headings beading sevens, sixes and small printI’ll be Tyreseus to lead these lemmings towards the dolphin shitI’ll be Tyreseus to lead these lemmings towards the dolphin shit

They have eyes but do not seeI’m not the victim, cop this image, cop this insulinI’m not the victim, cop this image, cop this insulinI’m not the victim, cop this image, cop this insulinI’m not the victim, I’m not the victim, I’m not the victim